


Wherever the Road Leads

by IwaKitsune



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Corpses, Found Family, Gen, I will write the content I crave, hi there is officially more than one chapter, in the making at least, there might be more than one chapter to this but at this point I make no promises, traumatic flashback
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22669879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IwaKitsune/pseuds/IwaKitsune
Summary: They are not the hero of the tale, and they don't begrudge this--all they want is to help, and learn, and maybe... live?There's a long way to go if they want to do any of that.(or: in which a kid finds themself at the edge of the world and meets a... not friendly but, at least, less hostile face. He does roast them though, rude.)
Relationships: Broken Vessel | Lost Kin & Nailmaster Oro
Comments: 29
Kudos: 166





	1. The road less traveled

The city wasn’t as dead as one would have thought. 

Perpetually in motion, with the rainfall and the running rivers that travelled through paths carved for them, down sewers to a place below. Horrifyingly in motion, with soldiers and civilians shambling along the streets with vacant eyes that glowed orange, dripping that same color through tears and maws and burst carapace, disfigured by heat and pressure.

(And there was motion too, of fear and hope, of those that hadn’t yet succumbed to the light and clung with all they had to the smallest chances, rummaging and struggling and refusing to give in. Quiet, scared, hidden, alive.)

A balance. If one was slow and careful, the husks didn’t take notice as one sidled by them. And if one was fast enough, one’d easily outrun the dragged steps of most of them—the sentries and guards were always the most difficult, still running on a mission they had to complete, a goal to fulfill: protect the city and its inhabitants from danger and outsiders.

They were an outsider. Not from the city, or from the regions above and around that could be considered friendly. But not from a land distant and afar from Hallownest either. They were an outsider in the sense of exile. Cast down and away before they were even hatched.

(How unfair. How disgraceful. To have been born for one reason only and yet not given the chance to act on it.

They had heard the voice—quiet and yet carrying so easily in the deep silence—and knew the words weren’t directed at them. Maybe it was for the best, regardless, but it did sting.)

They walked under an awning, passing through a large building to another section of the city, shifting their waterlogged cloak and the cloth they had found while rummaging through one of the many abandoned buildings; its color matching close enough to work as a make-shift cowl without attracting the distant eye of the husks or the distrust of any survivor they could have met.

Masks were common in the kingdom, they knew that, but no one had one like theirs—not covering it up would be a bigger giveaway than the drenched hood was. The longest of their horns couldn’t be concealed without making their silhouette stranger, but as long as no one could truly see their body or face and they didn’t stop long enough or move too quickly, they could pass as nonthreatening.

And to further push that point, they kept their near-broken nail—picked up from somewhere along their path a long time ago—bound carefully to their back under their cloak as best as they could hide it. It was uncomfortable, with the point sometimes nipping at their legs or catching on the stone, making them jerk back and causing too much noise for their liking every time it got stuck on the cobblestone paths and stairs.

They managed to sneak past a bug clad in pretty red colors swaying on their feet, standing under the protection of the towering building and looking out at the curtains of water. A sector of the city they hadn’t tried to explore much opened before them, the husks here more numerous than in the outer edges to the west they were more used to.

It was their luck that, in their awed glancing at the opulent structures all around them, they didn’t see the step.

The fall was rough and ungraceful, a startled squeak torn from their throat as they crashed to the ground. But with the rain, both the movement and the nigh silent sound should have gone unnoticed.

They looked up and behind them. The husk from before stared back at them, eyes brighter and alert before running off with a loud, ringing cry. The thundering steps from somewhere nearby turned the cold realization into icy dread and they struggled to their feet against the weight of their cloak as a sentry emerged from one of the buildings, the shadows on its face only making its orange eyes more viciously bright.

It charged at them as they straightened, wielding weapons far better than theirs. They barely managed to dashed under the swing of the nail—so much larger than them, the mere wind breaking after it making them stumble with its force—and shot in a dead sprint down the path, their cloak whipping behind them and the endless downpour drowning the pounding of their feet. The grunt of the Great Husk Sentry was louder, and a myriad of eyes turned towards them.

From windows, under awnings, meandering the streets. Eyes turned to focus on them with burning intent and they clenched their hand around the hilt of their nail, drawn from where it had been hidden. They couldn’t afford to have it cutting at their carapace anymore while they fled, the occasional jolt of pain from the point digging in too distracting and too much a risk.

They ran and their cowl clung to their shell and the rain curtained everything and they were too focused on what was directly in front of them. A soldier leaped from their peripheral and the flash of the nail cut through their cloak and into their arm and all they could focus on was to sidestep to avoid the second swing and continue running, heart of void pounding in their chest and the cut on their arm.

(If they could find somewhere to hide just long enough for the ripple to calm down. If only they could outrun them and skid somewhere safe—)

Down the slowly closing-in streets and then the roar of flowing water and falling rain was louder than the pulse in their head. A sign caught their eyes, the paint somehow still holding against time and elements, pointing towards what appeared to be the mouth of an old tunnel on the other side of a large cave-in in the middle of the station. They barely managed to clear it with a leap that ended in a painful roll, nail clattering out of their grip and closer to the tunnel’s mouth.

They sat quickly on their knees and turned to look at the gargantuan soldier who had lead the group following them, and shuddered with relief as they saw all of them on the other side of the edge, water running between them in slow enough a current they could swim it—but others bugs (most bugs, actual bugs) wouldn’t be able to cross without too high a risk of drowning.

Their relief turned into ice as a spear stabbed itself on the ground to their side, clipping their already wounded arm on the shoulder and they recoiled from it, eyes rising up and finding the ugly, boiling gaze of another sentry, its wings buzzing and keeping itself aloft steadily. Another soldier tossed its weapon to the flying sentry, who grabbed it off the air in too smooth a relay.

The Vessel didn’t pause long enough to see it aim.

They grabbed their nail and clambered away almost on all four before they could raise to their feet fully, the new weapon lodging deep into the stone where they had been a moment earlier. The tunnel called for them—whispers of safety in the dark.

The ceiling was low enough the flying sentry had clipped against the edge of a decorative nonsense and they gained some distance, running past what could have once been a bench—now twisted metal split down the middle—and the end of the tunnel. The darkness hadn’t lied, there was safety. But both mouths of the stagway were blocked by gates of metal they knew too thick to break through quickly, the space itself flooded just under the platform’s level, and the steps and hisses of the soldier now entering the room grew louder.

They leapt into the cold water and ducked their head as far as their buoyancy allowed. There was a very subtle, gentle current. Taking their chance, they followed through it—and squeaked a mouthful of bubbles as a sharp pain ran down the side of their leg. Their head broke the surface and they saw the shine of the burning eyes, bubbles and blobs of Infection dripping from the sentry’s mouth and into the water to fizzle as it touched the cold liquid.

The Vessel kicked away from the platform and sentry, and to the other side of the tunnel. Their back hit the rugged stone wall and they shrunk as best as they could against it, cloak fanning around them like tendrils and the white points of their horns a harsh contrast against the darkness. Their gaze remained on the husk, dread pooling in their chest as the bug’s wings stretched and it took flight again, nail held up.

They shrunk further against the wall, claws digging behind them—one hand going further back than it should. They kicked. Their leg caught the edge of a smoothed rock, the next swing going further without hitting anything.

The sentry dove towards them, nail poised to strike. The Vessel turned as sharply as they could, aided by the shadowy tendrils cast by their cloak, and dove their head enough to fit through a hole barely under the water.

Their horns scrapped against rock uncomfortably as they kicked forward through the small, flooded tunnel. One second. Two seconds. Three—

The pressure on their horns let up and they broke the surface, shaking the water from their eyes as best as they could. A small platform rose over the water and they swam to it, climbing on and wincing as they put pressure on the stinging of their arm and shoulder. They sat down and glanced around the new area, rubbing their claws on the smarting limb—thankful it wasn’t their nail arm.

A belfly roosted snugly a fair distance away, undisturbed by their sudden appearance, and seemingly guarding the only exit to the rest of the tunnel. Carefully, they climbed to their feet again, fixing their nail to their back and shifting their weight experimentally. The stinging on their leg hurt, but not enough to cause more than discomfort. They were fast, they could move past that belfly before it could hone in on them in a clear shot.

The tunnel bore more of the same creatures, all of them shrieking as they sprinted past them even with their negligible footsteps—likely all put on edge by the first one, who had more time to see them as they climbed the wall. There were drops and climbs and more water, and past all of that: an opening—exit to the tunnel.

A pale, white light to reach for.

The platform under their feet clattered, metallic, and the tunnel opened to a ravine with them near its middle. Large, fat bugs flew lazily through the air with wings that seemed too small for them, listless to the sound they made and, in that way, largely unaggressive. It was peaceful.

They tilted their head and kept close to the tunnel, carefully glancing around before daring to take a couple steps further out. White-gray specks floated down, and as they glanced down past the edge of the platform, they saw a pool of water—strangely green tinted, even from so far away—and...

They jumped from one small structure to the next and tried to not pay much thought to the scattered and dented armor, or the corpses that splattered on their falls and hung on the edges of rocks and platforms, missing the target that was the pool below.

Corpses they had seen many, and armors and weapons could be useful, especially with how old and dull their nail was. The thought of examining these remains too closely made an awful sensation climb up their throat and threatened to choke them. They forced themself to look away. At least none of them moved, not one so much as twitched, long gone...

Focus, focus.

Too open space like this wasn’t good, even if the creatures didn’t seem to take much notice of their presence. There was a tunnel close to the edge of the pool.

Finally, they landed with a slightly too heavy thud, forced to remain still for a couple seconds longer than they’d have liked as their legs reminded them of the nicks and cuts they had collected. Soon enough they were inside a smaller space and the anxiety in their chest soothed to a more familiar feeling: cautious curiosity.

The tunnel had a high ceiling, allowing the specks to continue to fall even here, carried by wind running on what appeared to be a collection of tunnels if the whistling sound was to be believed. The breeze also brought the sound of thumping. They soon found the source to be small bugs—even compared to their own short height. They went in the same path, hopping through and kicking up dust.

Their bellies shone orange as did their eyes. The Vessel did their best to step by them and further in. Not very bright, those critters; didn’t try to change directions even as they noticed the Vessel running past. The creatures that _did_ were further ahead, airborne and also filled with vile orange that they spat in their direction, with an aim that always seemed to meets its mark against their cloak no matter how they moved, the orange soaking through and burning at their carapace momentarily before they left them in the dust.

The wall they encountered was tall and difficult to climb, leaving them struggling to find footholds and sliding down enough times their frustration drove back the ache on their limbs, and when they stood at its apex, they saw nothing but more rock platforms and pale vines and roots hanging from the ceiling. There was more way to go deeper without having to climb too far up (they didn’t want to climb, the thought immediately rejected as soon as it entered the mind they weren’t supposed to have).

They dropped down to the ash-covered surface below. The earth rumbled. A heavy thud hit the ground a little ahead of where they stood and they tensed like a statue. The creature before them was everything the hoopers from earlier were, multiplied. They could barely register the size—easily twice their height—before it bore down on them with another heavy jump—aimed.

The Vessel leaped to the side and swung their nail, the monster barely reacted as it scratched its thick carapace, the hard shell almost like ribs protecting the bright blob on their belly from the slash. It slammed down on them before they could back away, making them tumble to the floor, dazed—the points of its claws dulled by the constant pounding made it difficult to break through their soft carapace, but it didn’t keep the hit from making them squeak in pain.

The Vessel rolled away from the next slam as it lifted to pounce, coming to their knees and shooting forward and away, claws clenched on the hilt of their nail with enough strength to make their hand hurt. It was proving ineffective almost against the problems they were encountering, but they couldn’t afford losing it.

They fled as quickly as their legs allowed, leaving the Great Hopper behind and using the time the distance bought to climb a wall further into the tunnel, and once atop, turning to face the entrance with shoulders heaving with silent panting as the thudding came closer—only for the creature to slam its back on the ceiling, unable to maneuver enough to fit through the awkward hole, legs too stiff to do more than propel it up and forward.

The Vessel sat for a moment, feeling their body ache and small wisps of Void coming from their wounds. They took a moment to focus on the feeling, willing it away. The chill on their carapace faded and they rose to their feet, knowing without needing to look that the injuries had sealed enough to stop flowing, even if they smarted still. It was the best they could do, with their energy as low as it was.

The edges of their cloak wiggled with their nerves as they glanced around; there was one other exit to this small tunnel they had clambered onto aside from the one the beast kept uselessly pounding against. They slid down yet another slope. The ceiling was tall, with cracks that allowed a pale light to filter through, and the constant fall of ashes white and light. It left everything strangely quiet and still.

They saw another sharp, upwards slope on the other side of the clearing and took a moment to steady themself before dashing through with as much speed as they could. The sound of something heavy falling behind them and shaking the ground made a knot leap into their throat and they didn’t dare look behind them; even less when it doubled.

They jumped high and dug their claws, the tendrils of their cloak helping haul them up over the edge before either of the Great Hoppers could slam and stun them. They scampered away from the edge, looking back for a moment and seeing the flashes of orange disappear back down the ledge. They turned away and stared ahead, walking cautiously.

They tilted their head at the structure on the distance as they approached, further on the back of the tunnel. They had seen plenty of buildings; most in varying levels of dilapidated and ransacked. This one stood without so much as minimum damage from the environment, with little in the way of openings other than what appeared to be a doorway, a heavy cloth hanging on the frame and blocking the inside from view.

The whole place was quiet, undisturbed, other than the soft whisper of a passing breeze, whistling through the rock formations in the ravine. And a quiet buzz.

The sound clicked and they barely managed to turn to face the aspid before a searing glob of Infection hit them squarely on the chest at full force, sending them toppling over with a hiss as they clawed and shook off the liquid. They glared at the bug squinting at them with nothing less than delighted and malicious intent, the glow on its belly dulling for a couple seconds before it spat another small barrage at them.

Dodging should have been easy, and yet one of the globs still hit its mark against their leg, making them wince as they drew their nail and raced forward, slashing at the little beast. The weapon cracked heavily against the aspid’s face, making it retreat and buzz barely out of their reach, spitting yet again. This time they were more prepared, the blobs flying over their horns as they ducked and threw themself into another slash, barely reaching with the tip of their nail as it again tried to flutter out of their range. Another spat, a narrow dodge, and another running slash—

Barely able to keep their balance as their foot hit a rock hidden under the ashfall, with the tendrils of their cloak catching them before they could tip over. Their nail met its target and the aspid finally fell with a splash of orange. They shook their nail to the side to rid it of the liquid, steady and back on their feet fully.

And then they turned around and jumped a foot in the air, nail poised defensively in front of them. A large bug—easily taller than the Great Hoppers and, actually, hauling the corpse of one of those creatures like a trophy or a hunt—stood a couple paces away with a nail much too large for them to even consider lifting, expression blank and yet somehow judgingly sour under the headband. Red armor under a fur-necked cloak.

The Vessel bristled, reminded of the guards and husks that had given them chase. And with that, becoming all too aware of the stinging and aches of injuries barely healed and newly acquired. The edges of their cloak fanned out slightly at their feet—a threat display, anything to appear bigger.

The large bug huffed low, nearly a growl in his chest, and tilted his head as if sizing them up. His kill laid on the ground next to a bench by the building, and his Great Nail sat comfortably on his shoulder.

“Didn’t think that vermin dared come this close. What a bother.” He glared down at them as they tensed further, changing their grip on their nail as if preparing to launch at them. The bugs from before hadn’t bothered talking, but this was still someone with a weapon. He growled a little more audibly in warning. “Stand down, kid.”

They sprung forward, putting as much weight as they could on their swing.

A sharp, painful vibration shot up their arm and they soon found themself on their back, air knocked out of their lungs and dust settled slowly around them from where they had rolled and landed. Their nail was thrown out of their reach, and cut a clear trail on the ashfall. They sat up as quickly as they could, recoiling as pain raced through their body, and doing their best to glare at the bug who had so easily parried them. If death was coming to them then they would stare it in the face.

The bug walked closer, great nail grasped tight in his hand. The tendrils of their cloak coiled a little, but they didn’t so much as twitch.

“Your form is pitiful, no, _horrendous._ ” The large bug finally said with a tone somewhere between appalled and insulted, venom heavy in his voice as he walked past them and picked up the battered nail. His posture exuding something that felt like disgust as he looked at it. “And your weapon is just as dreadful. You must be lucky, how you’d managed to kill even an aspid is beyond me.”

He turned to face them, dark eyes unimpressed, and offered the hilt for them to take. They stared at it before hesitantly reaching out, swiping it from his grasp almost as if afraid he’d pull it away if they weren’t fast enough. He snorted at them, irritated.

“Lucky or not, kid, this place is no playground. Not like any other place in this land is faring much better, but even the City is less dangerous than this godsforsaken grave.” They shuddered at the thought of the mob in the City, waiting for them, and slumped slightly, pawing at the ache on their arms from the boiling shots and the recent deflection of their attack. They heard the bug sigh after a couple moments of silence, aggravated, and focused back on him.

“Troublesome.” He grumbled, one word of the train of thought that had certainly ran through his head, and the Vessel squeaked as he grabbed the back of their cloak and haul them into the air, dropping them on their feet with only a slight stumble on their part. They stared up at him as he turned towards the building, waving his hand. “Come along, kid.”

The Vessel remained planted in place, hugging the nail to their chest like a favorite toy as they watched him pick up his hunt. He waited for a moment, sighing gruffly as the sound of approaching steps never came. He glared back at the child, nodding his head towards the building. “I can’t let you go off on your own without at least making sure you’re in somewhat good shape physically. You aren’t. Follow me.” And with that, he crossed the doorway and left them standing out in the ashes.

The tendrils of their cloak wriggling slightly as they pondered. Even with the rough introduction, this bug was still one of the few interactions they had had with another that didn’t devolve into a fight of some sort. The bugs they had encountered were dismissive or scared of them, or actively tried to harm them.

They should know better than to follow... but this one had dark eyes. Dark was easier to trust than orange, or sickly yellow...

The cloth slid back into place as they stepped past it, finding it just as heavy as they had imagined it to be. The room before them held some elements reminiscent of the ones back in the City, with the furniture with delicate designs, and yet there still stood a number of objects that contrasted with the posh feeling those places had. The shells, trinkets, and weapons around the place certainly weren’t common back there.

The bug looked back from where he had placed his kill, resting his Great Nail against a table and pulling out something that looked like a metal pot from somewhere behind a curtain. The Vessel still stood by the entrance, looking ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. The pot slammed hard on the table as he shook his head.

“Good. Don’t have to go grab you by the scruff like a misbehaving tiktik. Sit down wherever, and stop hugging that thing like that. Don’t care how dull it is, it’s still a nail and a bad habit. Incident waiting to happen.”

They did as told after a couple moments of him returning to his work, shuffling along the wall and sitting with their back against it, nail now on their lap as they studied the bug’s movements. They could see him throwing some things on a hole on the floor and a light clicking followed his kneeling next to it before smoke started rising into the air and a soft glow started coming to life. He stood soon after and walked towards another wall, pulling on a string—they started and looked up as something on the ceiling shifted out of place.

He returned to the metal pot and placed it on top of the firepit, pouring water into it and leaving it to boil as he returned to prepare the hopper. They simply watched, slowly relaxing at the steady sounds and motions. They dozed off, only realizing they had done so after hearing a plop as the bug dropped cut pieces into the bubbling water and sat down again next to the fire. They met eyes and, after a staring match, he snorted.

“How did you end up here, kid? It’s not like anyone would take a leisurely stroll in the Kingdom’s Edge, even less with a grub trailing them.” The Vessel paused for a moment, looking back towards the entrance. The bug huffed, taking their movement as a refusal to cooperate. They only realized the miscommunication when he grumbled. “So petty you don’t have words to spare?”

They snapped to attention immediately, fisting their cloak with their hands before raising one out of the folds and tapping at the cowl still around their neck—no longer bothering to cover their mask,—making a noticeable effort to make a sound. Only a quiet mix of a click and a rumble to show for it. The bug stilled before slowly straightening from his hunched position, looking up at the ceiling.

“Ah. Can’t speak.” He hummed, rubbing the back of his head for a moment. “Didn’t think of that. At least you can communicate, kid?” He asked, once again focusing on them.

The Vessel hesitated before nodding, making a noncommittal gesture with their still visible hand.

“Better than nothing.” He shrugged, hunching back down and reaching out to stir the contents of the pot. “I’ll guess you got separated from someone?”

They shook their head, negative. The bug paused.

“You got here all by yourself?”

Nod.

“Doubt you’d drop all the way from the Colosseum without more than those scratches you got, the tales of smaller paths out of the City must be true. The Menderbugs would make a fortune with their maps.” He shrugged, standing up after a moment and moved the pot off the fire with a thick cloth. When he returned to the firepit he had the food on a flat pan which he placed again over one side of the fire, a small kettle now taking the free space. They simply watched, curious.

“Don’t care how lucky you are to have gotten here in mostly one piece, kid, I’m not going to coddle you. If you want food, you’ll have to move closer.” He said, picking one of the pieces up and starting his meal. He had downed well over a third of food before the Vessel moved closer, eyeing it with more curiosity than hunger.

They flinched back when the kettle started its shrill whistle. The bug barely managed to hold back an amused, mocking snort, instead lifting the kettle from the fire and pouring two cups he had set to the side. He placed one in proximity of the Vessel.

“Let it cool some. And don’t think I’ll not finish eating this, either take a piece or don’t.”

After a moment of hesitation (and him taking another of the pieces left on the pan), they grabbed one and fidgeted with their cowl, experimentally bringing the food to their mandibles. The glance sent their way went unnoticed, and no comment followed. The rest of the meal was silent, with them reaching only for a couple more pieces and copying the other when he finally picked up his cup to drink.

They were still sipping their drink when he set his cup down and shifted in place, turning to look at them closely. They froze under the scrutinous stare, the edges of their cloak curling around them. He spoke after a couple moments, nodding his head in their direction. “Still need to dress up those wounds, kid.”

The Vessel clutched the cup to their chest as the bug stood up with a grunt, making his way behind a curtain and reappearing with a couple bandages and a small jar with clear liquid. He sat back down rather heavily, and motioned at them to come closer. They stayed in place.

He rolled his eyes—his whole body followed the motion. “If I aimed to hurt you, I wouldn’t have offered food and shelter, kid. Unlike some of the City’s folks, I have a personal moral code I adhere to. If you want better chances for those injuries to heal quickly and correctly, you will cooperate. If not, no flakes off my shell, I already offered my help.” He shrugged and dropped some of the liquid on a cloth, extending a hand in their direction, palm up. “Arm.”

They stared at the hand and then at his face and back again before offering the limb, watching curiously as he closed his fingers around their wrist in a surprisingly gentle grip before rubbing the cloth on the cut. They squeaked and tried to recoil from the sudden stinging, the grip remained steadfast. It wasn’t long before he loosened it and they retreated their arm, hiding it back under their cloak.

“If you’re not letting me clean them up, you do it.” He said, nudging the jar and cloth in their direction and turning slightly more towards the fire, hunching back on himself. “I’m not going to fight a toddler. I am warning you that you want to have those clean before some sort of infection settles.”

The thought of ‘infection’ sets an alarm in their head and they stare down intently at the items. It’s not the first time they had been wounded, far from it, though... it was true that they hadn’t really dealt with weaponized infection directly hurled at them. Their shoulders drooped for a moment before they changed their position and picked up the cloth, shifting their cloak to have better access at their leg.

Neither that or their chest—both which had taken direct hits—was a fun experience, with them still wincing somewhat at the feeling even as they expected it. The bug remained silent through the process, hardly lifting his head to look in their direction and only speaking up to tell them off for continuing to rub at the cut on their shoulder with the cloth.

“Keep doing that and you’ll open it again.” They stopped. “Know how to dress wounds?” They stared blankly before nodding. “Doesn’t convince me. Are you going to let me do it or not?”

The Vessel bristled a little, pulling their limbs back under their cloak fully.

The bug sighed heavily. “You are too stubborn for your own sake. Just give it here, it’ll be quicker. If you’re worried about it hurting, it does not; it’s not comfortable but it won’t bite like the antiseptics did.”

The time between him offering a hand, palm up, and them extending their arm for him to take was shorter than the first time, at least. He got to work quickly with a roll of bandages, cutting it when needed and tucking in the edge without so much as a twitch. They examined the bandage for a couple moments, poking at it with tiny claws and shifted closer to where he sat for the next ones as well.

“This would be far easier without your cloak in the way.” The bug said a couple minutes in, after securing the one on their leg and well into the cut on their shoulder. “Not like it’s helping you stay warm, kid, you’re cold as ice even next to the fire.”

The Vessel tilted their head, their free hand clutching the hem of their cloak. Once the bandaging on their shoulder had been set, they tapped their claws to their mask on thought. Sagging a little, they carefully removed their cloak and the cowl, discarding the latter to the side and bunching up the former on their lap protectively and staring back at the bug.

“Arms up.” He ordered after a moment of looking at them with a critical eye. “I’ve been curious, kid. Where did you get that old thing from?” He asked while working away, half nodding his head in the direction of the nail. They simply shrugged. “Wasn’t given to you, then? Explains why you’re just going around swinging it like a club and hoping for the best.”

They growled lightly, a soft rumble that was naught but a small copy of the annoyed sounds he had made before.

He snorted a rough half-laugh. “You certainly weren’t _taught_ , kid; if you were, I’d be insulted on your behalf. No Nailmaster would allow anyone to wander around with such poor form, even the common soldiers know better than whatever fumbling you’re used to. At least, whichever ones haven’t fallen to the illness.”

They allowed their arms to drop after he took back his hands, experimentally twisting a little to test the feeling of it before half-copying his hunched posture. A tilt of their head read curiosity, or confusion. There wasn’t the wariness that the last word was prone to provoke so he took a guess.

“Never heard of Nailmasters?” They shook their head a little. “Either you’ve been under a rock for a long time or the City’s people don’t know anything, eh?” There was no reaction. He shrugged one shoulder and sighed a low hum—when was the last time he had talked this much? “There’s more to the nail than simply swinging it, and those who truly study the art of the nail and learn ways in which it can be enhanced are known as Nailmasters. It often takes years to earn that title, and it must be given by a master in many cases, at least officially. I trained for years under the great Nailsage, along with my brothers.”

He lifted his head as they jumped to their feet, running for their nail and then back towards him, skidding to a stop and intently pointing at him and then at their weapon. He frowned, unamused.

“You want me to train you.” An eager nod. He sighed heavily. They didn’t seem deterred at all, nearly bouncing on their feet.

The bug rubbed one hand against his chin. “It is my duty to pass on the knowledge of the Nail Art, per the teachings and laws of the Nailsage...” Suddenly, they nodded and made to run towards the entrance. A blur of movement and then they found themself squeaking under a large hand, its owner half-kneeling next to them and pressing them down a little more. “Wyrm’s sake, you’re like dealing with a dust devil. I literally just dressed your wounds. Sit _down_ , kid.”

They protested with silent squeaks and squirming, he could almost feel the sound through his claws pressed on their back more than he could hear it. The sensation settled weirdly on the back of his mind, but he didn’t lift his hand until after they gave up. He kept a wary eye on them as they sat up, watching as they kneaded their cloak sullenly.

“ _If_ I'm to train you, it will have to wait until there is less risk of those wounds opening up, and you’ll have to earn your keep. For now, you’ll rest and later we will see if you’re ready or not. I am not a gentle teacher either, and you will have to follow what I say. Should it be too much for you to handle, you’re free to leave whenever; not my business.”

They kept their head down for a minute, seemingly thinking about the offer, before they looked up at him and nodded. Internally, he sighed, wondering what he had signed himself into.

“You probably should settle to rest. I saw you dozing off earlier, just wait for a minute.” He stood and walked towards the curtains again, pausing for only a moment before glancing over his shoulder at them. “Don’t think I introduced myself. The name’s Oro.”


	2. Had I been here before?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the path ahead is treacherous and unknown and too similar to the one traversed, sometimes one gets in over their head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said I probably wasn't going to write more of this? Yeah, I lied. I don't know if there will be more chapters, chances are looking like yes but I make no promises. Please please take notice of the change in tags, the warning mostly starts for things after the third linebreak, it gets rough so I'd rather people be careful than not. One last thing: thank you BB8 for beta-ing this and for letting me bounce ideas on them!

This kid was going to be full of surprises, Oro found.

It hadn’t taken long to gather enough pillows to build a small nest they could use for the night. He had more of them than he ever truly used—luxuries he had no real reason to have other than for the sake of having them—all just somewhere between cluttering and decorating the hut.

It had taken even less time for the Vessel to settle into the softness and doze off, out like an exhausted lumafly. Seeing how their cloak curled around them and into itself, like a semi-sentient blanket, was definitely one of the stranger things he’d seen from them so far. But it saved him the trouble of finding a blanket for the time being, so he tried to not pay it much mind. Just another thing to the list.

Going back to his own routine wasn’t difficult; he had always appreciated the silence, with hardly ever needing to chatter to himself like Mato often did, or humming like Sheo occasionally would, in order to keep it at bay. As such, Oro didn’t need to worry about accidentally waking the child when all he had to be wary of was his own steps; at first, he tested to see if they would be enough to stir them and finding that even his normal and somewhat heavy footfalls weren’t doing more than have them shift deeper into cushions, he shrugged and continued with his normal doings.

The most he did was make sure cabinet doors didn’t slam when he was putting things away, and sincerely doubted that the soft ‘swish’ of him tending to his Great Nail was going to be noticeable, a simple tune that joined the crackling of the firepit. He glanced at the sad weapon the Vessel had left near the nest they were resting in and debated if he should clean and sharpen it somewhat—he had time. Sleep was not going to come easy, not with a stranger in his house after all.

Careful, he plucked it from its place and saw the tendrils of the cloak shift before settling back around the Vessel’s body, who burrowed deeper into both sleep and pillows. Good, that they (or the cloak itself?) were still somewhat responsive to things around them, a valuable skill when the world could be so dangerous. Good, that in the end they didn’t awaken, their exhaustion had been palpable before.

He studied the nail again, whatever his thoughts were swirling around changing to scornful distaste. It was a rough, sad little thing; there was some sharpness to the tip still, but the length was nearly blunt, with only a jagged and uneven edge in a way that wasn’t particularly useful unlike purposely serrated weapons. He could feel the dents and chips on it, and spots of filth that hadn’t been quite removed.

A nail was an extension of one’s being, the one thing that could be the difference between life and death. A burden and a curse, and a saving grace all the same. Seeing one in such a state spoke of coming disaster and lack of discipline.

He looked back at the nest and the horns poking out of it. Remembered struggling on how to grasp a nail, when it was cumbersome and new, and being shown how to rest it against his lap and how to grasp the cloth to run against it in motions that back then had been strange and clumsy, and now stood as one of his main calming habits.

Perhaps not lack of discipline, but lack of knowledge could be just as deadly.

He shook his head, low huff leaving him. He’s not going to do the kid’s chores. A good place to start, then, to teach them how to take care of their weapon the following day, as they were unlikely to be able to start with anything straining with those wounds they had collected.

Resilient little grub, he thought, as he put both nails and the cleaning rags on a table. To have come to Kingdom’s Edge and not succumbed to the annoying, treacherous creatures that stalked the perimeter.

Impressive.

And a headache, actually.

He had come all the way to the end of the world for isolation, to face his demons alone and to push himself to his limits—and now there was a lost kid in his house that he had, for whatever reason, agreed to train.

He sighed lowly as he sat back down next to the fire, shifting the kindling to let it burn steady for a time as he sat cross-legged and bowed his head slightly, focusing on his breathing to meditate. Dearly needed, he grumbled to himself. Too much of a hassle he got himself into, but he would not allow them break him from what he was to do; they would have to conform to his pace.

He closed his eyes and willed the actual, hazy headache starting to claw at the back of his mind away, focus gone into the crackle of the flames and the rhythm of his breathing and the spot of cold that he was all too conscious of—the strange presence lingering close by.

He wondered, hazily, when the last time he had meditated near someone had been. The thought was sour in his tongue, and he was bitter.

* * *

The Vessel awoke many hours later, disoriented, to a couple of loud thuds of something heavy being placed none too carefully on a surface. Instinctively, they remained still and as silent as they could, trying to remember where they had managed to sneak into. Which section of the City of Tears they had wandered that held this many soft cushions still, that hadn’t been ransacked? It couldn’t be the western section, they had gone—

They had gone east, and further than they intended.

Slowly, they rose their head from the nest, limbs still tucked securely under their cloak and kneading nervously on the pillows under them. The hut with all its strange trinkets still there, just different enough from what the City held that they couldn’t mistake it, even though the lack of even muffled rain was already a dead giveaway.

It was still dark inside—the lumaflies around were low and resting and the hatchet on the ceiling’s skylight closed. The fire wasn’t burning, and it hadn’t for a long time if the temperature of the room was anything to go with. They had hardly noticed, unbothered by such a mild coolness compared to past experiences and to their own body temperature.

They quickly found the source of the sound, hands clenching anxiously on the pillows when their sight fell on their nail, out of reach and resting on a low table with the large bug standing between them and it—they wouldn’t be able to reach it safely, they didn’t have much to defend themself with other than their claws and horns—and was quick to pause and stamp down their sudden fear with a tentative hope.

Same bug as before, who could have killed them while they slept, and yet...

The Vessel still froze as Oro turned around and glared down at them, hope mingling with the anxiety rather than keeping it at bay.

“Up.” The large bug said, and the Vessel was fearful of how gruff it sounded. They uncurled carefully, unsure if quick movement would drive him to lashing at them—like the infected bugs in the kingdom—or if he’d grow impatient and snap at them for their hesitation. He huffed, irritated, but did little other than stare at them as they climbed out of their nest, smoothing their cloak to settle around them placidly. “Checking bandages.”

The Vessel tilted their head and lifted one arm to the side, the other pulling the front of their cloak in the opposite direction to leave their body in view. The bandages were stark against their black carapace, tainted faintly with gray. Oro nodded and then turned towards the table again, sitting down heavily and pulling a couple bowls, cloths, and a box with bandages towards himself.

“Same song and dance as yesterday, kid. Cloak off.”

Their shoulders drooped slightly but they did as told, mostly relieved that the larger bug seemed content just telling them what to do, even though it was something they weren’t looking forward to. They left their cloak messily folded on the pile of pillows as they started moving closer to him, little claws picking at the bandages on their arm.

“Watch closely, you’ll do this by yourself after.”

Much larger hands covered their arm when they retreated their own to let him unwrap the cloth, watching curiously at how quick he was to find a way to ball it up and run through the length until the last bit that stuck to their carapace. He was much more careful than they expected as he removed it, tinted gray and cold to the touch, and revealed the deep black of their arm with the odd dull gray spots of scratches and healing wounds.

There was still a much deeper, blacker area that Oro’s claws recoiled from unintentionally, taken by surprise at how cold it felt, and he watched as small flake-like wisps rose from the Vessel’s carapace and disappeared in the air before they covered the wound with a gentle hand, holding their arm to their body and staring at him intently.

Waiting to see what he would do or say, perhaps?

It took a couple seconds for Oro to shake off the strange chill and snort. “Right, whatever. Guess that’s just how you work, huh.” Whatever the kid was, they couldn’t be a bug, and he knew that from the moment he saw them. There were just more and more confirmations. He didn’t know how far from a bug they were, how good (or bad) at faking being a bug they could be. That was not how wounds and vital fluids were meant to work, so that was a big oversight of...

Of whoever made them...?

Someone had to have—

Oro filed the thought away roughly as he pulled the same jar from the day prior closer. The way the Vessel’s shoulders drooped again and he’d almost imagine them giving the most muted whine made him roll his eyes. “Have to keep it clean, kid. That’s how most healing wounds work, especially on this part of the kingdom where the ash will cause issues if left unchecked. It should sting less than yesterday now that it isn’t fresh.” He placed the drenched cloth on their outstretched hand and watched them clean their arm, still wincing a little but doing a much quicker job than the night prior.

While they were at that, he untucked the edge of the bandage around their chest and started unwrapping it too, letting them start there without losing their drive. For the one on their leg, he motioned them to sit down, guiding them with pointers on how to remove the bandages effectively.

It was a relatively painless, quick process to teach the Vessel how to dress their wounds, needing only minimum guidance after watching him do it the night prior—make the bandages less constricting, hold it this or that way so it’s easier to wrap, stop rubbing at that wound (I know it itches), you’ll open it again. Near the end, Oro stood up and put away the items as they finished up with the last wraps, trusting the Vessel to be able to do that without supervision after all the prior practice.

When he turned again to face them, they were on their feet and with their cloak already snugly on, staring at him. He frowned.

“...What.”

They pointed at the nail on the table.

“Here I thought you’d want to take a breather, kid. Guess those wounds don’t bother you so much.” High pain tolerance? Probably, though the fact the damage done didn’t seem as prominent likely spoke of quick healing as well. Good combination for a fighter. He frowned at the thought. Even if they weren't a bug, they seemed a child. A child so young shouldn’t have to be a fighter yet, but who could choose that, when this kingdom was as is, with death lurking at every corner if one was unprepared?

Preparation. “Fine, if you’re so eager on that, you should learn to take care of your weapon.” He moved closer and picked up the tattered nail, staring at the confused headtilt the other offered. “A weapon has to be tended to so it can do its job properly and effectively. For it to be in a proper state, its owner must be diligent in cleaning and sharpening it; ergo, you have to learn how to keep it in as good a shape as you can. This thing is almost worth more as a blunt weapon than anything else, unless you fancy aiming specifically with the point, and even then...” He thumbed the edge, clicking his distaste as he demonstrably added pressure and it still didn’t cut through his carapace. “Still usable, but barely. You’d need more physical power behind the swing.”

He looked back at the Vessel, who had tilted their head to the other side and then crossed their arms, tapping one foot. They started bouncing a little from one foot to the other, lowering slightly as if readying to pounce, and then throwing a couple mock-punches to the air before staring back up at him intently.

He snorted. “You want to fight?” They nodded. “With or without learning to tend to your weapon first.” They shook their head. “So, you think this is in good enough condition to deserve starting to train.” They hesitated for a moment, slowing down and tucking their arms back under their cloak, and then nodded.

Oro gave a rough, derisive laugh. He slammed his hand down on the table, still holding the nail in a tight grip, making the Vessel jump slightly. “Kid, lets get some things straight. Your first lesson: I am the mentor here. What I say is not simple advice, it is what you _will_ do when it comes to your training. If you don’t want to do it, you are free to leave. In fact, you will get out of my sight and not return.”

He watched as they recoiled a little and gave a low huff, trying to tame back the flare of anger in his tone. It worked... marginally. “You’re wrapped in bandages and your weapon is a disgrace I am tempted to throw out to the acid lake. You might be better than yesterday, physically, but this thing isn’t. Learning how to keep a weapon is a skill any warrior must learn, and this is the only thing you have on you.”

He looked down at the nail as he spoke, raising his gaze to see the child as he finished with a click; their entire posture tense and shoulders held in such a way he could almost see their hands curled to fists, digging their claws into their palms. Oro saw them dip their head slightly and to the side, as if looking away in something that made him think of a mixture of anger and shame.

(A reminded of himself, many years in the past, when he too had been an impatient kid.)

He resisted the urge to sigh, only shaking his head for half a second as he considered the situation. He refused to back down from his stance—there would be no training with a weapon until they had healed from the injuries they’d collected along the way, it would be dangerous and foolish, especially when there was no reason to rush for that, and learning some degree of patience was necessary to be a capable fighter with abilities other than brute force.

But working on something that is already seen as little more than garbage, with even less that can be done to fix it, was difficult and disheartening... And if the Vessel did decide to leave, it would weigh on him if he didn’t at least try to provide them something better than what they came to him with; perhaps it was time to a little more resourceful. He straightened, making a show of giving one last examination to the weapon in his hands before clicking again. “It would be better to find you a new weapon than to have you flailing around with this, truly.” Oro watched from the corner of his eye as the Vessel perked subtly, tilting their head with subdued curiosity. He brought his hand to his chin.

“This area is a cruel, arduous challenge; if not for the beasts then for the terrain itself. Many have fallen in their attempts to best it, whether for need or for glory. Most of those weren’t foolish enough to come unarmed, and the dead have little say over their items. You should be able to remain here for the time it would take...” He trailed off, watching the Vessel shake their head quickly, taking a step towards him and pointing insistently with one little claw at themself and then at him, before motioning to the entrance.

Oro scowled darkly, growling a short note of warning that made the Vessel hesitate before redoing their motions, finishing with their hands in front of their chest in what he identified as pleading. His frowned only grew deeper, his voice slow and in warning. “Kid, do you think I’m exaggerating about the dangers.”

They shook their head, negative, before raising their arms and showing the bandages, tapping their claws against their temple.

“You’re aware of how lucky you are those are all you have to show for the hazards of Kingdom’s Edge, correct?” He asked and was taken aback by the way their posture changed to something that was serious and solid instead of challenging before giving one solemn nod. Again, they pointed at themself, at him, and at the entrance before clasping their hands pleadingly.

Oro paused, feeling the gravity that seemed to emanate from the strange not-bug before him, and remembered all the ways in which they had already proved to not be normal. He clicked his tongue, irritated.

“Fine, a deal for your hubris. If you remain here, I will bring you a new weapon that will be more fitting to being an actual warrior. If you are to follow me, you are on your own in the terrain, and if you wander or seek trouble, I will not come to your rescue.”

The Vessel straightened and he could see them barely restraining from bouncing on their feet. They pointed at themself, made the same fists-up motion as before, pointed back at him, and finally at the corner of their eye; all he could interpret that as “I can fight, you’ll see.”

“Are you saying you’ll prove you’re ready to start training, kid.” They nodded with a deep, full body motion; he almost laughed. Stubborn, insolent little grub. “I should chastise you for your disrespect, but then I remember where we are and how you got here on your own. A final point to the deal, then: If you gain new injuries, you will have to remain with this nail and only be allowed to do as I tell you, until I consider enough time has passed.”

They nodded twice, looking at him directly in the eye. He half-smirked under his mask, something like amusement bubbling in him. “Maybe you’ll actually surprise me, kid. Let’s go then.”

* * *

With Oro leading the way, the two of them stepped out of the hut and back in the direction the Vessel had come from, with only a half second of hesitation from them when the distant pounding of claws was carried to them by the ash-filled winds. A short grunt from Oro as he shifted the great nail against his shoulder was enough to make some of the tension coiling on the Vessel’s shoulders disappear, though they still had a tight grip on their own cloak. The discomfort of going anywhere without a weapon was something they hadn’t felt in far too long, it was almost powerful enough to make them call quits on accompanying their begrudging mentor, but if they could prove themself somehow...

They powered on, the great hopper who dared try to ambush them had been dealt with with a slash that had been too fast for their sight, though the cloud of ash that Oro kicked up as he dashed to close the distance and land the hit hadn’t helped the visibility.

Climbing the slopes wasn’t difficult for Oro, and the Vessel refused to let him see them struggle to get a grip on the dark stone, subtly aiding themself with the wispy shadows of their cloak to find footing. They had managed to finish climbing a wall when they noticed Oro looking down at them before jerking his head upwards.

They followed the gesture as he spoke, seeing what looked like platform they hadn’t noticed when they came through before—convinced it had been just solid ceiling instead. “We’re going up, kid. Either make the jump or go back.”

They squared their shoulders a little, raising their head at him like a challenge before taking a running leap to the platform. They reached it with ease, without even needing to grasp the edge to haul themself up, the ashes barely disturbed by their weight as they landed and took a couple tumbling steps, remaining upright. They turned to the feeling of Oro landing much lighter than they expected next to them, nodding his approval once before continuing upwards still.

The bubbling satisfaction of seeing the nod was enough to tamper the quieter unease as they continued following, ever higher.

Up and up they went, following the hulking red armor with fur-collared blue cloak, struggling minutely to catch up with him when climbing required actual effort from their upper body. They saw the slain creatures along the path, splashes of dulled orange tainting the white-gray resting on the soil, and it was ever easier to trot after Oro when they caught sight of him waiting at the edge of a ledge or a break on the path.

They refused to let their limbs shake with the strain of the climb, loathed to let him see that they were growing tired of the physical effort—especially with no Soul to shake off the fatigue, being unable (not allowed) to extract it from any of the wild beasts around. Even if they wished, they couldn’t attempt it, every potential danger being downed and avoiding the one they were following.

The hissing of acid reached them as they finally caught up with Oro after a particularly winding path they had been forced to take, unable to take the more direct one the Nailmaster had simply leaped through. They saw him staring at the liquid and tilted their head with curiosity, watching as he turned to regard them.

“You really are far better physically than I thought, kid. And more capable than I first expected too. But I am not foolish enough to think you aren’t tiring yourself.” He paused, starting to walk around the edge of the water, across a web of strange, pale roots. The Vessel followed close behind, eagerness flowing from them. “I will give you two options. We are near an area that can provide a weapon of better quality than I first considered, but it is a challenge to navigate.” He stopped at an awkward angle, grasping the edge of a vine to keep his balance as he looked back at them. “There is an outcrop between this place and that area. You can stay there while I retrieve your new weapon, or you can accept the challenge to show how capable you are in that terrain.”

He took one easy leap to a small outcrop that from the other side of the lake had seemed a solid wall, hovering over the bubbling water. They were quick to jump after him, nearly overshooting and running themself facefirst against the wall, at least at no risk of tumbling into the acid. They looked up at Oro.

“What will you do: Stay here—” He pointed downwards. “—or try the challenge?” He point over his shoulder down a small, thin tunnel that seemed to glow at the end. The Vessel was immediately motioning down the tunnel, a quiet, eager chirp from them nearly lost to the hiss of the acid. Oro narrowed his eyes a little, leaning forward towards them. “A warrior also knows when to call it quits if it isn't a life or death situation, kid. You better not be trying to show off when you aren’t capable, it will blow up in your face.”

The Vessel nodded, bouncing on their feet twice before visibly forcing themself to settle; then, they pointed at the tunnel and nodded again, giving a barely audible click. Oro shook his head, exasperated, but didn’t say anything after a curt order to follow him.

* * *

Barely a minute later, they reached the other end of the tunnel, opening just enough to be a small, safe outcrop in the face of the canyon that stretched before them, the wall on the other side of the chasm somewhat familiar. They paused for a second. Was this the same place they had... come from? The city was on the other side, wasn’t it?

They didn’t have much time to ponder as Oro grunted and nodded his head at the platforms ahead, ledges of thin stone sprouting from the outcrops of the canyon’s wall, metal platforms that were held up by pillars that seemed too thin to be solid support, even though the intricate weaving had surely withstood the test of time and punishment of slowly growing weight. If they craned their neck, they could glimpse, up above and hard to see, what looked like an opening in the solid rock on the other side of the drop.

The Vessel looked up at it, at the jumps up ahead—they could hear the roar of the wind coming from the cavern behind them, ruffling both their cloaks and blowing those white flakes, and they could see the tattling silhouettes of those large, fat bugs they had seen the day prior, simply drifting in the air like passive balloons. They turned their gaze back to Oro, knowing he was giving them one last chance to accept to stay put, and nodded to the challenge.

They both leaped off the ledge. The Vessel made it to a platform a good distance away, landing with a muffled sound of claws on padded metal, the structure hardly whining under their negligible weight and allowing them access to other paths to take. They were almost surprised to not hear any sound from other supports under their mentor’s landings and raised their head to see the blue-red blur of him far above amongst the clumps of white floating down.

They watched as he became smaller—going for height rather than distance whenever possible—and gave a quiet click. They crouched and then leaped as high as they could towards another platform, their claws finding purchase with more ease than they expected and they scrambled up the side with some effort, coming up to their knees and looking at the trails their hands had made on the just-disturbed ashfall.

Looking around, they found their next platform and did as well. Jumps and either solid landings or strained clawing as they slowly started figuring their mobility and calculating distances.

They passed by one of those large bugs drifting about with their eyes a dark color, even though an orange tone dully glowed and swirled in them. They could almost reach out to pet the boofly, and were tempted to try, but swiftly recalled that Oro was waiting for them up and wouldn’t appreciate the hold up.

They turned away from it and continued onward, hearing a louder buzzing that immediately clicked distaste in their mind, reminding them of the dull stinging on their chest and leg, and made to take a slightly different route to another platform, closer to the center of the chasm. They landed and took a couple steps, glancing to the sides to see where the next best foothold was.

And then the stone they were on shook hard, and a plume of ashfall hit them straight on when they swirled to look, blinding them from the figure as the cloud slowly started settling, innocent. Just as innocent as it had been when it softened the sound, but they could still hear it and the void in their chest had squeezed so hard they could barely hear anything but its whistling urgency.

The clatter had been loud, deafening in the [deep] relative silence of the [chasm]. A thud and a crack that rang more in their chest than in the air itself.

The ash [dust] settled and they locked up as they saw the shape of a bug, and then could only see [white.

White horns like their own, but different. This one had symmetrical ones, with the beginning of spikes growing outwards, still just little nubs. One of them had such a deep crack it was a miracle that it still remained attached.

Wisps of black, dark enough that they were visible in the deep shadows around them (shadows that clung to the stones and cloaked the spikes and murmured shallowly in vibrating whispers rippling in the sea), rose like smoke from the break, and then their little hands emerged from the cloak covering their equally dark body and struggled to support them upright.

Little black hands, with cracking claws and soft carapace, just like theirs. Shaking, just like theirs as they reached for their Sibling as the horn broke off and clattered to the unforgiving stone, as the crack grew and their arms gave from under them, and the not-sound of something that was equal parts fear and agony rung in the shadows between them.

Like the silent cries of distress that echoed before other deafening cracks had sounded somewhere in the darkness around them.]

The contrast of their hands against the white was blinding in a different way, the ashes drifting around the platform and cloaking everything around, leaving only hazy silhouettes. Their steady claws still found the [mask, keeping it—and their Sibling—from crashing down into the stone when their strength sapped away from their limbs.

They shook a little, the thin carapace on their legs scratched with the rushed motion to soften the landing. They could only see the white of a mask, and the color of their cloak, and it was not them but of them, and they could almost feel the way they cried with fear and uncertainty and pain, and they could feel the drops running down the mask’s eyes, and they could tell they were colder than them in a way that inspired dread.

And they cooed gently, caressing the cracked mask with their scratched hand and pressing their forehead against the other’s. And they cooed a soft, steady not-sound that slowly helped settle the ringing fear. And they held their Sibling close and allowed their cloak cover them and continued humming with soft vibrations of their chest to answer the quivering call.

And they couldn’t take the pain away, but they held them close until their trembling soothed to whimpers, and their Sibling’s claws dug into their sides and back as they clung to them with desperation. And then, the grip relaxed, and the yawning ache in their chest was theirs alone—]

The armor was smooth in places and sharp in others, jagged ends where the metal had split open, or where the carapace had been shattered by either the fall or the very thing meant to protect it. Their cloak curled tight around them and the ashes doing little to make the rough stone bearable on their legs after they crashed to their knees. Their chest broken open in a way different than the bug in front of them, spilling the dark blue—warmer than them...—hemolymph to the dull white and the gray-brown beneath them, only to drip down the side and [they were careful as they removed the silent weight from their lap, gently running their claws against the horns and humming softly.

Their sound was as peaceful a call as they had known, and they stood up and looked at the other silhouettes in the dark, and saw another blur of white and something that wasn’t plunging to the dark below and felt the terrified wail as it did so. Before they knew, they were on their knees next to another mask, another Sibling, and they hummed and petting the mask as something darker than black emerged from the split-open shell, and looked at the pale white of glowing eyes on a creature.

And they extended a hand towards it. There you are, whole and not split in two, and scared and hurt, and I’m here with you until you’re calm. They watched as the Shade flinched in the air before them, the wisps trailing under it sharpening as if rearing to whip at them, and they cooed as gentle a feeling as they could offer.

The tendrils that wrapped around their hand were colder than them, but only just so, and they held on with desperation, and they held them back and brought them as close as they could and continued uttering soft Nothing until there was less hurt and more tired. But they could feel other mutters of terror, and pain, and they held the Shade’s tendrils and brought them to another.

And there were many more.]

And there had been so many. Down below, they had seen the bugs with their armors and their weapons. They were broken and bloodied and dead, if not from their injuries then from the freefall to certain death below, for stone and metal were not kind to carapace, and shrapnel of armor could only dig deeper with as harsh a hit as gravity provided.

They rose smoothly to their feet, the trembling of their void trapped in their chest even when their limbs moved with a precision they had learned by force; they looked up at the hazy platforms around them, barely within reach, and felt themself whine softly, a sound swallowed by the empty air and the howls of [fear] the wind in the tunnels.

They had to go up, still had to climb. ... why did... they need to? ... someone awaited up there, right?

Their next jump wasn’t as steady as they tried, though they did reach the platform with only minimal sliding of their claws on the surface, and they struggled to their knees and, on a neighboring platform on the same level, saw [another mask, with a deep crack down the eye sockets and a shard missing on the side, and the Sibling scared and tired and hurting.]

Their own limbs were exhausted, and they made the jump, tumbling a little as they nearly slipped on [dust and black and things they tried not to think about as they kneeled next to the other. The black carapace was cold and unresponsive, but there was still a ringing fear coming from it.

Let me out. It whispered shakily and they would have felt chilled if they weren’t already soaked through with dread and hurt, echoing the feeling that most anything around them had vibrated with, even though their own calming ripple stayed deep within their chest. Their claws found the crack on] the helmet of the fallen [Sibling, and they whispered a soft] apology, lost in the shadows and to the buzzing slowly moving closer and the Vessel [dug their claws in and pulled with as much might as they could muster, little hooks struggling against the solid, pale shell, and the whimper from the trapped Shade hurt them almost as much as the cruel spikes coming from the shadowed rocks but it also sounded like a plea and they put as much strength as they could.

And there was a low crack and the Shade rose from the broken open shell.]

And there was a high whine and the helmet gave under their aching, bleeding claws to reveal a bug’s face, that was nearly peaceful and yet so far from it.

They could hear the buzzing behind them, and didn’t think much of it. The Shades of their Siblings had never tried to hurt them, why would this one—even with its strange sound—be any different?

The burning was unexpected even when they could barely register the pain and they were thrown off the platform in time to see the aspid buzz tauntingly.

[Falling shouldn’t have been so scary, but they couldn’t see how deep a drop it was in the unfathomable darkness around them, and they could remember too clearly, too keenly, the terror in the others’ souls when they plunged to the down-below. If they were lucky, they could land on their feet on stone close by. The alternative spoke of sharp cracks or wicked spikes.

They didn’t want to risk that, cautious and anxious, and they truly only climbed to reach the shells of those they could hear call for help, or simply to help them feel less alone when it was scary and dark and painful (until it wasn’t anymore).

They didn’t want to climb.]

* * *

Suddenly, they realized they couldn’t feel the wind rushing past them, or the whistle of their cloak whipping in the trashing air, or really anything but the soft hiss and pop of acidic water.

The Vessel struggled to regain their sight, hand clenching on something that [should be hard and jagged] was soft and giving and different enough they nearly startled at it. A soft grunt came from something against their body, and they felt it shift beneath them, but the soft in their claws never removed itself, merely tickling their fingers with the movement.

“We’re in an alcove, kid.” They winced a little at the voice, the sound jarringly heard. Oro continued, rough voice quieter by a couple degrees. “Need to work on handling surprises without freezing up.”

The Vessel buried their face against the soft collar of his cloak, shaking and clinging to it like a lifeline, something deeply cold dripping against it. He felt the low whimper, quivering against his fingers from where he had them sprawled on their back to hold them against his chest and shoulder, other hand firmly grasping the handle of his great nail. A second, smaller and slightly battered nail rested next to where they sat. Oro didn’t look at the Vessel, eyes focused on the mouth of the small cavern they were in.

Again, he realized just how little he knew of the child. How little he knew to expect, and how terrible some discoveries could be.

“... Let’s get you back to safety.”


End file.
